The Phenomenals: A Tangle of Traitors (16 page)

‘
Luride, adeste mihi, soror sanguine, perfidelis, sponte.
’

And there she remained, an eerie figure swathed in swirling smoke, keenly observed by the stinking, baleful ghostly horde watching and waiting. One and all.

The Lurid in the cabinet shocked Vincent to the core. He leaped back like a scalded cat and it was Citrine who darted forward and slammed the door shut. She leaned up against
it, bracing her feet on the parquet floor in front of her.

‘Domna!’ exclaimed Vincent, and he whipped out his Natron disperser. ‘I’ll count to three, then you open the door and I’ll shoot it when it comes out. 1 . . . 2 . .
.
3!’

Citrine wrenched open the door and jumped aside. Vincent planted himself directly in front of the cabinet, the disperser in one hand, a beanbag in the other. ‘Come on out, you dirty
stinker,’ he cried. ‘And I’ll blast you to Plouton!’

But the Lurid in all its wretched decay remained exactly where it was, rigid and unseeing in the cabinet, and to all appearances as dead as it had ever been.

‘Hah!’ cried Vincent, and squeezed the disperser trigger, releasing a shower of Natron crystals, but at exactly the same moment Citrine ducked in front of him and shut the door
again. The Natron sounded like rain against the metal.

‘What in Aether are you doing?’ hissed Vincent hotly.

‘Maybe it can’t come out,’ said Citrine, brushing the crystals from her clothes. ‘Without Kamptulicon telling it.’

‘Well then, it’s a sitting duck. I’ll shoot it anyway.’

‘But did you see how it looked? I mean it’s young, not an old man like I thought it would be.’

‘So? Don’t tell me you feel sorry for it!’

‘No, of course not!’

‘Then open the cabinet. I just want rid of it.’

‘But that’s just it. We don’t actually know how to get rid of it. The weapons only distract it,’ Citrine argued. ‘At least when it’s in the cabinet it
can’t do us any harm.’ Vincent was about to disagree again but Citrine put her finger to her lips and turned her head to the door. Vincent heard it too: voices and footsteps.

They spoke at the same time: ‘Edgar!’

Hurriedly Citrine ducked into the alcove, squeezing into the gap between the wall and the side of the cabinet and dragging Vincent after her. The voices grew louder, the footsteps heavier. She
looked up in horror. ‘The curtain,’ she hissed urgently. ‘It’s still open.’

Thinking quickly, Vincent slid the switch on his artificial arm, pointed at the curtain rings and moved his arm across the air. The metal curtain rings, by force of the magnet, slid
simultaneously with his arm until the curtain was fully drawn. Citrine gave Vincent a nod of admiring approval. Then they shuffled into the space behind the cabinet and stood stock still, side by
side, their noses only inches away from the oily coils that snaked back and forth across the rear of the machine. It was just tall enough to hide them if they bent their knees slightly. Seconds
later the study door opened and they heard the ingress of at least two people.

‘I can smell it already,’ said a voice.

‘Edgar!’ mouthed Citrine to Vincent.

‘Hmm,’ mused a second, ‘I’m surprised. Usually the cabinet contains the smell.’

‘It’s Kamptulicon,’ Vincent whispered back. Then, before she could react, the curtain was drawn back with a flourish.

‘Are you sure this is safe?’

‘Completely,’ replied Kamptulicon. ‘I alone have the means to control it. The cold paralyses the Lurid and will keep it immobile until I find that blasted boy and finish the
process. He’s not a Degringoladian, I believe, but an outsider.’

‘There are plenty of urchins on the street who wouldn’t be missed,’ laughed a third, deeper voice. Citrine and Vincent exchanged glances – who was this?

‘Don’t I know, sir!’ said Kamptulicon. ‘But the Lurid is bound to the boy so I have to use him. There are exceptions, as you know, but they’re complicated. Besides,
he knows too much now.’

‘Won’t the stuff on his head lead the Lurid to him? You said that’s how you found him in Mercator Square.’ This was Edgar.

‘Yes, and if it hadn’t been for your cousin and all that business at the gallows—’

‘I couldn’t help that! Mayhew Fessup and the DUG are on to her.’

A ‘tsk’ of irritation silenced them both. ‘This is no time for your petty grumblings,’ said the third voice. ‘I’ve got to be at the Ritual soon. Oh, and the
Degringolade Daily
will be printing this tomorrow.’ There was the sound of rustling paper and murmurs of approval. ‘As for your cousin, I’ll wager she is with the boy;
find one, find the other.’

‘That is exactly what I intend to do,’ said Kamptulicon. ‘Now, stand back.’

Vincent touched his forehead where Kamptulicon had smeared the binding paste and he was troubled. What if the Lurid could still detect it underneath Folly’s oil? He only had her word that
it would put the Lurid off his scent. Could he really trust her? Other, more worrying questions were starting to surface, but right now he had to ignore them.

Citrine seemed to sense his anxiety and squeezed his hand to comfort him. A sharp hiss and a rush of cold air around their feet told them that the cabinet door had been opened. There was a
clicking noise and the humming became even louder. The smell of tar was strong, but not as strong as the smell of Lurid.

‘On my word!’ breathed Edgar.

‘Well, well, Leopold! It’s not often I say this, but I’m impressed.’

‘Kew, indeed, but now, if you please, hold your tongues,’ said Kamptulicon. There was a brief moment of silence and then the madman’s voice rang out loud and clear.
‘
Luride, amok!
’

Citrine squeezed Vincent’s hand so hard his knuckles cracked. Sweat oozed from his forehead and swelled into beads. But then someone let out a cry of alarm.

‘I thought you controlled it!’ hissed Edgar in a panic. ‘Where’s it going?’

‘It must be the boy’s scent – it’s picked it up.’ Kamptulicon could not hide his excitement.

‘Then he is close by!’ said the third man. ‘Follow it, you fool!’

Vincent felt sick. Folly’s liquid hadn’t worked. Maybe this was what she’d wanted. He swallowed hard and steeled himself for what was surely now inevitable. He felt Citrine
nudge him. She was holding a bag of black beans. He reached awkwardly into his cloak for the Natron disperser, his heart hammering like a blacksmith on an anvil. Would he be able to reload before
the Lurid got to him? He couldn’t escape it stuck behind here . . .

‘
Adeste mihi!
’ shouted Kamptulicon. There was the sound of skidding footsteps, a door slamming and then silence.

The Lurid arrived first. Folly’s heart quickened when she saw it hovering on the brink of the Tar Pit. Then it descended the slope, moving in that way peculiar to a
Supermundane entity, and came rapidly towards her, weaving warily between the salt pillars. She felt for the bag of ambergris in her pocket, then placed her other hand on the hilt of the shining
weapon on her belt. Now the Lurid was right by her. She stared directly into its eyes. It gave no sign that it had seen her but brushed past and went straight to the fire. It circled it, sniffing
the air. Folly forced herself to look closely at it and she was washed over by an almost unbearable feeling of sadness. It was human-like, but no longer human.

Then in her peripheral vision she saw Kamptulicon. He was panting audibly and pulling on his gas mask as he ran awkwardly down the slope. He came crunching across the shore and drew up between
her and the snuffling Lurid.

‘You!’ he said in angry surprise, his voice distorted by the mask’s filter. A short but recognizable strip of bandage was hanging over the edge of the dish.

‘I see,’ he snarled. ‘Very clever, very clever indeed. You used Vincent’s blood to draw the Lurid here. I should have known; a girl who carries black beans and Natron as
a matter of course is hardly your average Vulgar.’

‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me,’ said Folly coolly. Her heart was thumping so hard she thought he would surely see her body pulsating to its beat. Surreptitiously
she kept her hand on the ambergris. Kamptulicon held out the pendant and ordered the Lurid to come to him. And, although it obeyed, Folly could see that it was reluctant to leave the fire, as if
torn between two forces. Kamptulicon looked around suspiciously. ‘So, is your metal-handed friend hiding behind a pillar, about to take me by surprise?’

‘I came alone.’

‘Then tell me where he is and I’ll spare you. I don’t have time for your puerile games.’

‘No. Give me the Lurid.’

Kamptulicon’s eyes widened behind the large lenses of the gas mask and he snorted with derision.

‘You can’t stop me from taking it. I have the drifting stones,’ said Folly. ‘And I have more than you.’

Kamptulicon’s face darkened as he struggled to contain his ire. Sarcasm dripped like treacle from his words. ‘I commend you on your translation of Quodlatin. You have my book, I take
it. But where, pray, did you get your drifting stones?’ He took a step closer.

Folly planted her feet solidly on the shore. ‘Stay back, I’m warning you, or I’ll turn the Lurid on you.’

Kamptulicon held up his hands in a gesture of surrender but he kept coming. ‘Don’t be stupid, just give me the stones,’ he wheedled. ‘It’s dangerous. You’re
meddling with things you don’t understand.’

‘I told you to stay where you were.’ In one swift movement Folly whipped out Jonah’s bag. ‘
O Luride!
’ she called. ‘
Contrucida
impuratus!
’

Kamptulicon froze but the Lurid ignored her.

‘
O Luride!
’ repeated Folly, louder, a hint of desperation in her voice. But the Lurid paid her not one iota of heed. Its allegiance was clear: Leopold Kamptulicon.

Kamptulicon took immediate advantage of Folly’s confusion. He grabbed her arm, forced her to her knees and tore the bag from her grasp. He opened it and sniffed it and poured out a shower
of small stones on to the ground. ‘You’ve been tricked, you fool,’ he sneered. He threw the bag away and twisted Folly’s arm further up behind her back. Then he felt the
pockets of her coat and took her beanbags and Natron and, with a cry of delight, retrieved his book. ‘Who are you working with? What would you possibly want with a Lurid?’

Folly cried out with pain but shook her head in defiance. Kamptulicon merely increased the pressure on her arm, forcing her face down into the sharp shingle.

‘I can make you tell me,’ he said simply. ‘Vincent can attest to that.’

The gurning Lurid was hovering nearby, waiting for instructions from its true master. Folly looked at it and her eyes filled with tears. And she couldn’t help herself; she whispered
something. Kamptulicon saw her tears and heard what she said and visibly started, as if he had touched a kekrimpari generator.

‘What did you say?’ he asked in disbelief. ‘You called it by name. You
know
the Lurid?’

Folly shook her head. ‘No,’ she moaned, but the quaver in her voice belied her denial.

Kamptulicon cackled ecstatically beneath his gas mask. ‘Have you just admitted there is a blood connection between you and the Lurid? Oh, my dear, how kind of you to sacrifice yourself in
Vincent’s place.’

‘I know the rules,’ gasped Folly. ‘The Lurid is bound to Vincent, not to me.’

‘There’s more than one way to skin a cat.’

Folly’s stomach lurched.
He knows something I don’t.

Kamptulicon crowed on. ‘Did you skip that chapter? The one where it says, “A Lurid can assume the body of a blood relative, regardless of any other bond.” ’

As the full meaning of Kamptulicon’s words became clear Folly felt as if her very soul was draining away.

‘Is this Lurid your father?’ teased Kamptulicon. He put his hand to his chin in a mocking gesture of consideration. ‘No, he’s too young. I can see that in its rotten
face. Then who?
Your brother?
’

Folly flinched, a movement so slight she hardly knew she had made it, but Kamptulicon felt it. His grin grew broader, causing his mask to shift on his face.

‘So, Axel here is your brother. How did I miss the resemblance! What an ignominious end he came to on the gallows. How embarrassing for you.’ He dragged her roughly to her feet, held
her by her hair and twisted her round to face the slavering Lurid.

‘
O Luride
,’ he called out. ‘
Assumate puella soror!
’

‘No, Axel, no! It’s me, Folly. Don’t do this.’ But her appeal fell on very dead ears.

Time chose then to slow its relentless passing, as if to allow Folly to savour her last moments. She became intensely aware of everything around her: the sound of the seething tar, the wailing
of the Lurids and the sky.

How strange, she thought. It’s too early for sunrise.

And then the Lurid came forward with its cavernous mouth wide open. And behind them the sky was lit up in orange and red. A deep reverberating chanting grew in volume as the thousand-strong
crowd of masked Degringoladians approached the Tar Pit for the Ritual of Appeasement.

It felt like an age, but was in fact only minutes, before Vincent and Citrine finally dared to emerge from their hiding place.

‘Spletivus,’ said Vincent. ‘That was too close for my liking. I can still smell it.’

‘Are they – is
it
– definitely gone?’ asked Citrine.

‘Yes.’ The cabinet was empty so Vincent closed the door.

‘Then let’s get back to the Kryptos,’ said Citrine anxiously. ‘I can’t believe what Edgar has got himself mixed up in. We’ve got to tell Folly and Jonah
what’s happened.’

Vincent looked uncertain. ‘You know, I’m not so sure Folly is on our side.’